I briskly jogged toward my next story. It will surely be a sensation. A young girl had disappeared in this house. A police officer had followed in her footsteps. Neither was seen since. I will be the reporter to write an article about this. Already, I could picture my article on the front of the New York Times. Teenager, Then Policeman Swallowed by Haunted House, Who is Next? Yes, this would be the title. Millions of people will read it and no one will say that Sally Brown can’t write a good story. Caught up in my blissful thoughts, I did not notice right away that my destination was already in front of me.
Despite my cheery mood, I bit my lip as stirrings of apprehension materialized inside of me. It wasn’t that hard to understand why people referred to this house as haunted. I had to admit, it didn’t exactly look very welcoming. Its few widows were cracked and dirty, the outside of the house chipped and darkened with age. A sixth sense warned me to turn around, I could search for sensations in a different place. After all, two people had disappeared in here. I shook these foolish doubts off; this was my chance, this kind of opportunity is only given once.
I walked up the dangerously creaking steps, still eager for my story but somehow no longer so enthusiastic. I ran my hand through my hair, preparing myself, and opened the door. I had watched a couple of horror movies before, but I had never liked them. The creak of this door reminded me of those scenes when the main character opens a certain door… and you scream in your head, “Don’t go in! Don’t do it!” Was I one of these characters? I gritted my teeth and stepped inside. The door let out another heart-chilling creak as it slid shut. My legs seemed to move of their own accord, as I stepped into a room. I trailed my hand on the wall. It was rough, and so cold. My hand made an odd rustling sound as it brushed against the wall. I jerked away, my heart pounding against my chest. The sound my hand had made was too loud in this unnatural silence, a blunt declaration of my presence. This was genuine fear. The fear I had felt when I was a child and woke screaming some nights. My parents would call me a silly girl and would tell me that there was nothing to fear.
But here, I was alone, without anyone to calm me. I would have to calm myself, I could not afford to break down when there was a story to write. To do so, I looked around. A majestic grand piano pulled my gaze toward it. Perhaps I would play a little tune to distract myself. I stepped closer to it, and reached out. A lone note broke the silence. I jumped back, my eyes wide with terror, for I had not touched the piano.
“Ah… another visitor…” a voice sounding as if someone was choking its owner, reached my ears. My heart pounded, my vision blurred, yet I had to pull myself together. “Can I have an interview?” my voice sounded unnatural, shrill and high-pitched.
“An interview…” there was a hint of amusement in the horrid voice. A shadow materialized where nothing had been before, and glided toward me. I backed up, right into a door. A door that before was an empty space. A door that was soaking wet… in a liquid that smelled peculiarly… of blood. The shadow was now right in front of me. I desperately leaned back against the door, but a hand reached out and touched my cheek. I now realized who was next. I was. My heart seemed to stop and my senses were enveloped in darkness.